He sent me flowers. It had her raven locks, her pouting lips. They had escaped from the New Prison, it is true; but the wall of Clerkenwell Bridewell, by which that jail was formerly surrounded, and which was more than twenty feet high, and protected by formidable and bristling chevaux de frise, remained to be scaled. The figure of the girl upon it in plain black dress, standing with her hands behind her, was an undeniable and astonishing likeness of herself. The emerald wings, slashed with scarlet and yellow, wheeling and swooping about her head, there among the wild plantain. ‘Leave it, imbecile.
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